


Pub Night

by arlenejp, roryuniverse



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-11-30 15:59:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11466894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arlenejp/pseuds/arlenejp, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roryuniverse/pseuds/roryuniverse
Summary: John goes out with Greg to the pub.Where's Sherlock?





	Pub Night

I need a night off. Sherlock is being his childish self again. No cases and nothing to do. I'm not staying in the flat with him tonight.

* * *

          _Greg, care for a pint tonight? JW_ I text Greg Lestrade. 

Greg is getting a divorce and has been wandering around his house, feeling so lost.

Like Sherlock, he has no interesting police cases to work on and to distract him.

Even though he is the Detective Inspector, he still loves to get his hands on murder cases and be out on the beat. His co-workers love him for it.

          _Hey, just thinking about you John. Yeah, meet me at the Boar at nine. GL_

          _Suits me. JW_

* * *

Sherlock has again confiscated my laptop, and right now I have a pretty boring book I'm trying to read.

          "Sherlock, I'm going out with Greg tonight."

Sherlock's head bounces up, and his typing stops.

          "Why?" he asks, his tone of voice more like demanding than a question.

          "Well, you're obviously not good company right now, and I thought some alone time for you would be good."

I figured that giving him the chance to think I'm more interested in his well-being than mine would keep him quiet. But no!  
He tosses the laptop off onto the floor and stands up.

          "Sherlock, that's my laptop! Careful how you use it!"

          "Why would you be going out? Why not stay here?"

I take a deep breath, and my voice is too harsh when I answer.

          "I'm going out, and that's that."

Even though there are two hours before Greg is due at the pub, I walk around Sherlock, get my coat, and as I walk out, I say in a cold tone.

          "Don't wait up."

          "Why the hell would I do that?"

          "Because that's what you do," I whisper under my breath.

I step out of the flat, slamming the door behind me and make my way to the end of the pavement, hailing a cab.

* * *

I make it to the Boar pub, waiting for Greg to show up to order, as I sit down at a vacant table. I haven't ordered a pint yet.

A woman comes slowly walking up to me a moment later with a look that reads, 'Want to have some fun?'

I don't need to be Sherlock bloody Holmes to know that she is desperate and looking for a distraction.

She's not too bad-looking. I act not interested. I didn't come here for a quick shag.

In the corner of my eye, I notice the woman hesitate, her expression full of disappointment.

She had assumed I would be an easy catch, probably not very happy with the situation.

However, I'm relieved to notice her turn and walk away, probably looking for another man to play with her.

* * *

Good. There's plenty of those around. You wouldn't want to be caught with a bloke like me anyway, I think to myself.

* * *

Relief floods me as I see Greg walking towards my table, also early, the awkwardness of sitting here alone and unintentionally attracting attention fading away.

* * *

          "Hey," the other man says, as he reaches the table.

He's wearing casual attire, jeans, and a button-down shirt.

* * *

Sitting in a chair across from me, he lightly sighs, and then that's when I remember: his divorce. 

The part of the reason why he even came here.

I clear my throat for a moment, lick my lips, trying to figure out how to start a conversation that would not be awkward for this silver-haired, older gent.

* * *

Greg isn't paying attention to me as he calls for a waitress, asking for a pint for each of us. 

As the woman disappears to get our orders, facing him,"How are you feeling?"

          "Like shit. You?"

          "I think we're both in the same boat."

Greg raises a brow in question. I breathe deep, decide to go ahead and just begin.

          "Sherlock." 

As I say that name, I don't need to be any clearer because Greg nods his head in complete understanding.

Unable to stop myself, I give away more than I expect myself to do.

          "He got upset when I told him I'm going out for a pint with you. I don't know why he made such a big deal out of it. And, the kicker, I'm now upset I left him as I did."

Greg frowned, trying to figure this out too.

          "Maybe he's jealous?" he suggests. 

I have to sit and absorb that.

          "Jealous? That's ridiculous. Why would he, the famous Sherlock Holmes, get jealous of his friend going out to have a pint with a mate?"

          "Why does the famous Sherlock Holmes do anything?"

* * *

I shrug, realizing the Detective Inspector has a point. 

I'm glad to see the waitress coming back with our beer, setting the mugs on our table.

          "Enjoy," she says with a wink, before turning away. I can't help but notice the way her hips move as she walks. 

* * *

I pull my attention away from her and look down at my beer instead, taking a drink. 

It's not the best kind; more of a drink-your-troubles-away type of liquor, but I suppose Greg and I are in the same kind of situation, although he is hurting the most right now.

* * *

I watch as Greg downs a good amount from his mug and when he finishes, gives a sigh of content.

          "Do you want to talk about it? The divorce, I mean." 

I cut through the silence between us.

* * *

Greg is looking pale and thin. This divorce is taking its toll.

          "I don't know, John, maybe I was never cut out to be married."

          "Oh, Greg, you were for hitched so many years. Why would you say that?" I wonder curiously.

          "I never paid much attention to her, always to my work. She was jealous whenever I worked late or even stayed late to help a colleague out."

I give acknowledgment with a snort.

          "That's why you think that Sherlock is jealous? Because I don't stay home with him?"

Greg gives a casual shrug.

          "Just conjecturing, John."

* * *

We order another round of beers and Greg slugs it back immediately. I watch with surprise. That's not his style.

          "Hey, watch it there! You'll be soused before you know it!"

          "Don't care," he replies, sounding honest like he doesn't care. 

After a brief moment of silence, this older but still good-looking man faces me, with a serious expression.

          "John, can you keep a secret? No, wait, I know you can. You're keeping one yourself."

Before I can make a protest to this, Greg continues.

          "Before I met my wife as a young man, I had an affair."

          "So, Greg, we've all done that."

I shrug, not surprised.

          "Aha."

And here I can tell he is a bit out of it. He's slurring his words and his movements are sloppy.

          "But I had one with a bloke. Best time of my life."

I raise my eyes to him, now listening intently.

          "Oh come on John, don't give me that 'are you gay' line!"

I stay as noncommittal as possible with my voice.

* * *

          "What happened?"

Another silence greets us. Greg sighs, shoulders slightly lifting up and down in a half-hearted shrug.

          "Not much, not much?" Greg's eyes turned down to his drink.

          "What do you mean by not much?"

I don't believe it and know there is more to it. Greg looks a little annoyed at how I'm pressing.

He's getting more drunk by the minute.

I sit back with my mug, drinking down my pint with more vigor than I thought I would have. Why not?

* * *

          "Alright, alright, doctor. Well, it just didn't work out. I remember he hadn't been very turned on by me and found my sex skills to be- Not very good. He admitted that he couldn't see himself living a very happy sex life with me, and that was that."

* * *

I lower my mug, a frown forming on my lips as I look at Greg.

* * *

Skip to some minutes later, and I also feel the alcohol settle into my system.

          "Well, you know what, Grey? Piss him." 

I say in a slur of words, not noticing I had called Greg "Grey" and used the word "piss" instead of fuck.

Greg doesn't seem to mind, or rather he doesn't notice, as he's as rat arsed as can be.

          "Yeah. He can go fuck someone else, for all I care. Want another pint?"

My nod is eager and quick.

* * *

All this drinking has made me want to pee, and I rise, almost falling over, and take care of duty. 

When I come back, Greg has his head on the table.

* * *

          "Greg, come on, time for us to head home." 

My voice is coming from far away, and I can't think straight, and we somehow make it outside to hail a cab.

In the cab, I sit very close to Greg and speak.

* * *

          "Whoever that guy was sure didn't know what he was talking about. I find you so damn sexy, sexy enough to want to-oh what the fuck."

Before I can try anything, Greg bends into me and finds my lips, his mouth becoming insistent.

I lean into him, grabbing his silver-gray hair with one hand and his neck with the other, opening my mouth.

Tongues finding, lips sucking, biting, working deep into our mouths.

We break apart and Greg whispers in my ear, "We're too drunk. I'd love to pursue this another time when sober. What about you?"

Damn, it's Sherlock I want!

          "But, only for a diversion?"

          "Yes, maybe that would be wise."

I'm dropped off first.

* * *

Walking into the flat, I hear the violin playing and know the disgusted look I'm going to get.

          "John, how ducky of you to come home. And drunk to boot?" 

Talk about the dripping sarcasm.

* * *

          "Did you and Greg have a nice fuck while you were at it?"

That's it!

I take a swing at Sherlock, but because I'm so sloshed, I miss.

          "Damn you, Sherlock. Damn you!"

I growl instead.

He backs away a bit and, taking up his violin, plays a tune he knows I like.

Guess that's his way of apologizing.

I make my way, weaving, up to my bedroom and plop on the bed fully dressed. I'm not going to like myself tomorrow.

* * *

          "Not going into work I see. You and Greg are having a grand old time of it." 

Sherlock calls out as I make my way into the kitchen, head pounding.

* * *

          "Sherlock, just go away."

My voice and body are not steady at this point.

          _We have to stop this. I am not at work today. A darn headache. Are you up and about_

          _No, yes, sort of, and Sherlock is making my head worse._

          _Come over to my place._

          _Be there in an hour or so. Need to shower._

          _Okay_

* * *

I ever so slowly get up from my chair.

          "Taking a shower now and getting dressed."

Sherlock scowls and then his face lights up.

          "Aha, going to Greg's now aren't you? Can't keep your hands off him."

          "Well, I get nothing here,"I catch myself mumbling.

Sherlock's face goes through a sequence of startled, unexpected and floored.

We both stand there, me realizing what I had just said, him trying to understand it.

          "John," he hesitates, and I quickly move out of the room. Am I afraid?

I shower, dress and go to leave.

* * *

Sherlock grabs my arm as I'm getting my coat on.

          "John-,"

          "Not now. I can't do this now."

I run out to Greg's flat.

* * *

Once in the cab, I wonder if I did the right thing.

Leaving Sherlock like that. But I'm hungover and beginning to question why I set myself limits as to my sexual preferences.

What if I am gay? Bi? What does it matter?

My sister was right in fighting my parents about wanting her sexual freedom. But, she's turned to drink.

Ha! And what the hell are you doing, John? No! I won't go that way! I have to, no, need to find how who the hell is John Watson?

* * *

I am so into myself that I don't realize the cab has stopped at Greg's flat and has been sitting waiting for me to pay.

I inch my way out, can't do anything fast, and to the door. Ringing the bell, Greg appears, and he looks as bad as I feel.

* * *

Laughing at us both, he hands me a large glass of water and a Paracetamol, and I sit on his comfy, well-used sofa.

I've been to his small flat a few times but never to stay long.

* * *

          "We have all day to rid ourselves of this hangover. Is there something you want?"

Thinking about that for a long moment, "I would love to sleep awhile."

Greg holds his arms out and drags me up.

          "Into the bed and to sleep for both of us."

When I see the bed, I hesitate.

          "Just shoes, socks, and shirts. Maybe loosen our belts and trousers," as he notices my discomfort.

I nod agreement and self-consciously turn my back, getting under the covers.

Both of us maintain a sizable space in the middle of the bed. Although to be honest it is a small bed, so space is minimal at best.

* * *

I wake to find that Greg is not in bed, I surmise that it is sometime in the afternoon.

          "Wake up; lunch is waiting. Feeling any better?"

          "Yea, thanks."

I head to the bathroom to take care of myself and then out to the kitchen.

Greg has made eggs, coffee. Don't want anything too much to eat.

          _Bored!_

A text, it's Sherlock. Don't even answer it. Not giving in to Sherlock's whims.

* * *

          "It's sunny out so why not wait until later in the day and hit up one of the dessert cafes. I've yet to try one out," Greg says.

          "Good idea."

* * *

After sitting and reading the newspapers and talking sports, we take our coats to find the nearest dessert cafe which turns out to be around the corner.

* * *

Decadent small cakes, doughnuts, finger pastries, all delicacies to make my mouth water, and it becomes fun just picking out what we want.

* * *

Instead of eating the goodies there we wrap them up to take to Greg's home.

          "Dessert instead of dinner?" 

I giddily say with a lewd note in my voice.

Greg chuckles and agrees.

* * *

          "Hmm, what say to some wine with our delights? Not a lot though."

          "Greg, I like your thinking."

* * *

As we're walking back to the flat, another text sounds off on my phone.

          _John, are you coming home tonight? Or still playing around with your friend_

          "Is that Sherlock again?"Greg asks.

          _So that you know, I'm with Greg and he's going to show me his cock if that's what you're asking._

Before sending it, I show it to Greg.

          "Is this good with you? Up to now, he thinks we're only drinking buddies."

          "I can guarantee you that by now, Sherlock deduces we are doing more than drinking."

          "John, maybe not a good idea? Why make it worse."

His face shows concern.

I send it off anyway.

* * *

          _John, don't get hurt, it's all sex to him_

          _Oh, it's big enough to hurt alright. But I'll be using lots of lube._

I'm showing these texts to Greg as we head back into the flat, and he's laughing and feeling guilty at the same time.

          "Sorry, Greg, but I'm so tired of his childishness."

          _What happened to not gay_

          _Greg has shown me different_

          "John, Stop it," Greg says putting his hand on my phone.

          "Now you're the prick you know! That man cares lots for you. As a matter of fact, oh never mind."

I turn off my phone.

* * *

At the flat, we watch some telly until it's dark out and we both agree it's time to indulge.

We're sitting on the sofa, and the wine and desserts are on the coffee table in front of us.

Greg takes a bite out of a chocolate eclair, taking a small piece brings it to my lips.

He rubs the chocolate on my lips and licks it off. I inhale, exhale loudly.

Dipping my finger in the wine, I find his mouth and wipe the wetness of the wine on it. His tongue licks at my fingers, into my palm, and down my wrist.

          "Greg," I barely get the word out.

          "What, do we know what we're doing?"

          "Stop thinking, John and just live a little. Do what your cock says."

Hell, my cock is already wanting.

* * *

Another small bite of cake is in Greg's fingers and pressing into my mouth. 

Taking it, I fold my hand around his, and suck his fingers, first one and then three at a time.

His breath comes in and out, in and out rapidly.

* * *

          "I love to talk dirty, John. It's erotic."

And in my ear, he whispers, "taking your tongue and drawing it out into my mouth, my lips surrounding it."

He licks my ear.

          "Pulling on that sweet succulence that's your cock, sucking, licking, feeling your dick vibrate as you come exploding in my mouth, swallowing it deep."

          " Dear God, stop! No, don't stop."

          "Stopping is not an option, now John. If it is to you, then get up and leave but I know you want this."

My body rises, and Greg pushes me back down.

He looks me in the eyes, his dilated.

          "You don't mean that do you?"

His fingers caress my face, finding my lips and seductively parting them, a finger brushing my teeth, entering and nudging against my tongue.

          "Let me show you, show you how it's done."

* * *

I weakly suck his finger, our every move taking me deeper and deeper into a place I'm not sure of.

His tongue laps at my neck, my ears, and he nibbles, wets and bites.

I unbutton his shirt and put my lips to his chest, raking my nails along his nipples.

My shirt buttons are not opening fast enough, so he tears it open, and my breath catches as he does it, throwing it on the floor.

* * *

His hands on my trousers, unzipping, drawing them down with my pants.

          "God damn, let me see. Let me feel."

My cock stands up, his face close enough I feel his breath on it, and he rubs a finger over the tip, drawing my hips closer to him.

          "Hmm., ooh, touch me." Unable to resist any longer.

          "That's it, give in to it," his breath again close on my cock.

He undoes his trousers and all his clothes land on the floor.

I look down, and his cock is dripping with pre-come.

          "Stand up and let me rub my body against yours," his voice intense, determined.

Standing up, both naked now, we hug as our hips twist, move, rub, finding friction where we can.

Kisses deep, tongues, lashing out, hands exploring up and down our bodies.

>  
My legs are giving out, and I drop to the floor, and he follows.

* * *

          "Would love my tongue tingling your ass, fingers in deep, in and out, put my cock in your mouth, stuff it full."

          "Greg, stop, pleassee. "

My mind is all over the place. I want, desire, yes, whatever this man is willing to give.

* * *

Greg's tongue is working all over me again. My chest, nipples, the undersides of my arms.

My hips buck, grind, press closer to his body, trying to rub, find any satisfaction.

          "Soon, John. Your cock will be in my mouth, fucking it."

          "Now, now." as I pull on his silvery gray hair.

* * *

He mounts me, rubs against me and then while running his tongue down my middle he finds my stiff, erect cock. His tongue, oh damn, it licks, it slides up and down, up and down. 

One hand gently handles my balls while a finger is toying with my ass hole.

Greg's mouth enfolds my cock, sucking it deep into his mouth and I raise my hips to him and come, my body shivering, twitching, over and over with relief.

* * *

I lay on my back, finally up on my elbows looking to handle his erect cock.

          "Let me do the same to you. Let me get you off."

He lies down, my body moving, following his frame down to his hips.

My eyes look towards his member, and I wrap my mouth around it. It's warm, moist with his pre-come, and salty.

I haven't had a man in many years, and it all falls into place. Working with tongue and lips, I slide along up and down.          "John, John, yes, oh yes."

A few strokes and his liquid is in my mouth. I gag slightly but keep it and swallow.

Both of us, lie there, and we hold hands.

* * *

We stare up at the ceiling, silent for some time. 

Finally, I move my hand away from Greg's slowly, and he looks at me questioningly.

          "You okay?" he asks.

          "Yeah," I answer more quietly than I intend to, avoiding the silver-haired man's gaze.

          "It's just that- I don't even know what we're doing."

          "Me neither."

We both become quiet again, still laying on the floor.

* * *

          "Go to him."

Now it's my turn to look confused as I look at Greg.

Greg sits up, a grin on his lips.

          "Just go to him," he repeats himself.

          "If you love him so much, that is. I don't know what you're doing here, moping about in my flat. Listen, we all get like this, but. . . Sherlock is the one you should be fucking with, not me."

A smile breaks out on my lips, and I chuckle softly.

          "I never knew you were the type to give great advice, Greg."

          "Yeah, me neither," he laughs.

          "Now hurry up; go back to your boyfriend."

* * *

          "What about you Greg?"

          "Oh, I'll find someone. Might even have a go at Sherlock's stiff brother, Mycroft."

I choke on my words.

          "That will be a challenge!"

* * *

I laugh and don't even question Greg calling Sherlock my boyfriend as I slowly get up from the floor.

I nod a thank-you to the Detective Inspector before turning and hurrying off to 221B.

I know I was in for a very long talk with Sherlock, but it will be worth it. Very worth it.

* * *

I hail a cab and once to the flat, race to the door.

I could hear my heart thudding in my chest, and not from the adrenaline of running.

Searching in my pockets, I seem to have left my keys at Greg's.

I knock once, twice on the door in my eagerness.

It isn't too long until the door opens and even though I expect to see Mrs. Hudson's bright expression, I'm instead greeted with Sherlock's blank one.

* * *

          "Hmm, surprised to see you here. Well, I'm on my way out," in a casual voice, and he tries to slide past me.

I push him back,"No, we need to talk. Go back upstairs."

          "Nothing to talk about now. Let me out, John."

I push him back towards the steps. My next voice is the captains, deep and commanding.

          "Sherlock Holmes, you will get upstairs."

Sherlock stares in surprise at my stern face and military stance.

Slowly, almost deliberately slow, he turns and mounts the steps, me following him.

* * *

Once inside, his coat, scarf, and gloves are thrown on the floor and flouncing to the sofa, lies down with his face toward the wall.

          "God damn you, sit up like an adult and stop this sulking."

He turns, stands on the table in front of the sofa, walks right up to me and with fire in him>

          "You fucked Lestrade and expect me to just listen to you? What, are you going to apologize? Or maybe ask me to be your next victim?"

* * *

By now my temper is taking over, and I can't help it, I push him hard. Enough he loses his balance and falls onto the floor.

Getting up he aggressively walks up, his body against mine and he kisses me.

It's so sudden that my anger is replaced with shock, and I stand there as if frozen in place.

His kiss is rough, hungry, and angry.

* * *

Before I know it, I'm kissing back with the same amount of vigor, my hands slowly going to the detective's waist. 

I hear a little moan escape him, which also surprises me.

Did I make Sherlock Holmes moan?

* * *

The millions of questions that I have about this situation is pushed away as I focus more on the kiss. 

My body is on fire, and I have no doubt that Sherlock's is as well.

He presses harder on me, and it's my turn to moan.

I can feel my heart beating like a repetitive drum in my chest, my hands going into Sherlock's smooth, dark curls.

I can feel Sherlock's anger slowly subsiding as he begins to kiss me more gently, more softly.

My eyes are instantly close as I kiss back the same way. We will take this slow, then. Let's not rush into this, I think to myself.

* * *

We back away from each other, our short, staccato breaths contradicting the calmness we are trying to achieve.

          "Joh-, Sher-," as we begin talking at the same time.

          "Sherlock, let me make us some tea. And then it's time to get this all out in the open."

Sherlock jumps into the kitchen as I walk in, opens a cabinet and takes out my favorite biscuits.

          "I bought them yesterday, looking at me a bit bashfully.

He can't see the little smile that crosses my face.

Kettle on, sugar and milk, cups at the table in the sitting room, I compose myself.

The kettle whistles its tune and I bring it in and pour.

Sherlock is already sitting, no crouching in his chair. His coat and scarf still on.

          "Sit down right and look at me. I'm not blowing your head off so stop being so skittish."

I sit, take a biscuit and sip my tea.

          "Joh-, Sher-" and we both giggle.

          "I differ to the military man." 

          "About Greg and me," Sherlock waves his hand in dismissal.

          "No, let me get this out."

          "We were both lonely and drunk. He, because of his divorce, and me, well, me because of you. Yes, we did have sex. Can't fool you on that aspect. But...it was Greg who told me to come back to you, so don't blame him for any of this."

          'I want you, you irritating, fucking intelligent, gorgeous beast. I want to run with you about London, be your errand boy, your partner"---and here I hesitate---"your sex toy. In other words, Sherlock, I. . ." and the tears come rushing down my face, "I love you."Silence envelopes the flat for a moment as Sherlock stares at me, blinking a few times. I stare right back.

I feel as if my heart and time itself has stopped a beat, and I could feel myself holding my breath.

Was he angry at my confession? What if he didn't feel the same way?

* * *

Still the quiet lingers, and still, he continues to stare at me.

I'm unsure how he may feel; his expression, whatever it may be, is hidden behind a mask.

Fear grips me for a moment. Maybe I shouldn't have blurted those words out. I give a soft sigh, opening my mouth to speak.

          "Sherlock, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have--"

          "Be quiet, John," Sherlock says quietly.

I blink as I watch the detective reach a hand to my face, resting it on my cheek.

He ever so softly says "I love you, too," as tears are falling down his cheeks.

Happiness overcomes me as my tears fall.

A smile slowly shapes my lips, Sherlock smiles back, giving a small laugh of joy as he leans forward.

I close my eyes, my heart beating as our lips touch.

This kiss is not rushed or eager for a sudden desire. It's a kiss filled with real love.

My hands instantly wrap around Sherlock's neck, and Sherlock wraps his arms around my waist.

Both of our eyes closed as we lock into a blissful moment of passion and love. Yes, it's true: I love Sherlock Holmes.

And what's more, he loves me back.

We pull away again, and Sherlock rests his forehead against mine.

          "My soldier," he whispers.

          "My detective," I whisper back.

**Author's Note:**

> Have to thank JamKittensFanfics for the great work she did. It was both our first time co-writing and we did it without getting angry or upset with each other. Looking forward to more co-writes with her.


End file.
